Thanks to “that bastard capitalism”, as a veteran “chansonnier” put it the other day, our melodic mines, which have fallen into the fiery swamp of anti-Francoism in comfortable salons out of nostalgia, are still enriched with a good portion of brave progress. Furthermore, it is embedded in “that bastard capitalism” that supplies them with an abundance of money. … they can not only criticize cruel capitalist laws without conscience-scathing moral questions, but in addition, they earn marks such as dedicated, dedicated, cooperative, environmentally friendly, resilient people, etc. If these critical voices were to be fair, they would have to erect a monument to that bastard capitalism that brought rich profits despite the vague suffering of being a luxurious mourner.
On the other hand, those of us who do not criticize normal or nefarious capitalism want to be part of it, because we understand that we can only climb this harsh asphalt jungle under the dirty guidance of capitalism. Some profess great faith in capitalism, which acts as a lever for progress based on hard work, persistence, talent, and a little bit of inherent luck. Capitalism’s rules are strict, of course, but we prefer to play in that field, not in the cheap social-communist field dedicated to handing out handouts that tame the mind and tame the will for a soul-zombifying mindless soup. Bastard capitalism guarantees vermouth on Saturday at noon. Big capitalism enriches our fantasies of various kinds of wealth. And because of extreme bastard capitalism, we wake up every morning nervous with a pirate knife in our teeth. “That bastard capitalism” has fueled its rogue machinery at full speed to quickly obtain a vaccine for the pandemic bug. An applause from the balcony would have been so noble, so kind, so empty, and so little benefit in getting us out of the quagmire. Fuck capitalism, Dad, I feel like I’m a union member and I’m eating shrimp.
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